


Hey Jealousy

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALso kinda the good guy?, F/M, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealousy, Ketch being saucy, Ketch is a background matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: Prompt: You’ve had a major crush on dean forever, and for the last couple of months, you’ve been dropping serious hints. Only Dean isn’t picking anything up. When Ketch shows up and shows interest, Dean’s jealousy makes an appearance.(Prompt by the brilliant @divadinag).





	Hey Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> I mean. What even. (Un beta'd as always)

You’re not blind. You’d noticed how goddamn attractive he was the moment you met him. You’d seen how well he filled out, well everything, his t-shirts must’ve been a size too small right? It’s the only explanation for the way his muscles stretch the fabric just so over his thick arms and the planes of his back. It’s probably why he wears those thick flannels over the top, he _needs_ the extra layer. And god those legs. Strong bow legs outlined in denim. His whole body is just, ugh, a tree you wanted to climb. That’s without even beginning to describe his face; perfectly chiseled and home to the most interesting eyes and full lips you’ve ever seen.

He’s fucking handsome. We get it. He doesn’t need to be _that_ head to toe beautiful. It’s borderline obnoxious.

But, sometimes you can’t always act on these things when you want to. You’re in the middle of a hunt when you first see him. A vampire nest outside of Aurora. It’s all pretty textbook. The idiot bloodsucker you’ve been tracking leads you from this dive bar to a closed down warehouse and it being the middle of the night the nearby businesses are empty. You scope the place out, sneak in, and you’ve taken out three of them, still holding a now decapitated head in your hand, when Sam and Dean Winchester bust in like they’re the heroes of this story. Normally you’d be annoyed by another hunter, or two, interrupting you while you’re in the middle of something but there’s still three vampires left so maybe there’s a small flutter of relief at their arrival. Then they’re all dead and the first time you meet Dean, really look at that perfect fucking face of his, is over a pile of dead vampires as you’re burning the evidence together. He’s not any less handsome but you’re not exactly feeling your most alluring. Not covered in blood stains and bumpy skin that’ll be bruised in the morning.

Not making a move that first night had been self-preservation. You'd been trying to save yourself the embarrassment of him turning your messy ass down. Although you convince yourself it’s good manners. You convince yourself it’d be rude to hit on him mid-hunt. It’d be a different story in a bar but you’re on the job, it’s no time to stare at him like a piece of meat.

Anyway, you’d been bleeding. You’d killed four vamps by the end, but one got a taste. The bite mark on your shoulder was deep and bleeding pretty substantially even with the rag you were holding on it. Honestly, you’re lucky the idiot couldn’t get a good shot at your neck or you wouldn’t be standing.

Sam had insisted on patching you up with promises that he stitched like a pro. Dean had promised you breakfast with a wink that made your stomach tighten. That’s all it had been. Medical attention and a suggestive promise of food. That’s how you ended up staying at the bunker for that first night. 

Well, really, that’s how you moved in. And moving in is how you became friends with them.

Now you’ve been there a few years. You’ve met their mother, a woman who was famously dead for decades. You’ve seen other realities and archangels and met God. It’s too much to list everything. Their lives are not that of normal hunters and by association, your grip on reality has loosened a bit as well. Even considering that your reality had already included monsters and demons.

It’s just that recently, maybe the last six months or so, there’s something that’s really been grinding your gears. Or should you say, nothing is grinding your gears and therein lies the problem. You haven’t got laid in a while and all because of Dean-freaking-Winchester.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even on the hunts where you do go off on your own, because sometimes you need a few days, you can’t just pick up some townie at a bar like you used to. They never come close to Dean and invariably seem like a waste of your time. Or like you’re cheating on your crush. There’s your hard place.

The rock is Dean himself. Because only an actual rock could be as obtuse as he is to the signals you are putting out there.

There are all these random moments. The hours, sometimes days, between the hunting crap where you live normal lives. Movie nights where you swan off to your room to slip into something more comfortable first. Something that showed off a little too much leg or was a little too tight around the chest and was, generally speaking, not always that comfortable. Or there were the touches you’d started laying on him. A hand that lingers too long on his arm or fingers that ghost over his when he hands you a coffee.

Between all the physical touches and the stares, the flirting, you’d been about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. The number of times you’d laughed at his lame jokes should have been enough, right? It was finally starting to dawn on you that maybe Dean Winchester did not, like he suggested the first night he met you, want to share post sex breakfast with you. It was very possible he didn’t even want the sex part of that equation.

And then Ketch came to call.

The knock at the bunker door was out of the ordinary sure but nothing you didn’t think one of the boys could handle. You weren’t rushing to answer it yourself anyhow, not when you’ve read the same page of the book in your hands over and over again. Once again caught in your own heard thinking about him rather than whatever you were trying to read about. Maybe one more attempt and you’ll actually absorb the words this time.

When you still have no idea what you're reading after two more tries you finally give up, dog-ear the page and haul your ass off the bed to investigate.

“You think you can show up and we’re just going to let you stay? I don’t want you here while I sleep.” Dean’s voice is loud enough to hear before you step foot into the war room. You can tell he’s not really angry though, there’s a hint of amusement behind the gruffness, the kind of tone he reserves for people he doesn’t completely hate.

“What exactly are you worried about me doing?” The response is smooth, polished and decidedly British.

They both stop bickering when you enter. You should have known that it was Ketch but having only met him on a handful of occasions you hadn’t recognized his particular lilt without seeing his face. Before you get a chance to even say hello he smiles at you, “why Dean thinks anyone would be interested in bothering him when you’re in the room is beyond me. Y/N, always a pleasure.”

It’s not like you’re an Anglophile but yeah, sure, his accent is easy on ear. And when he’s complimenting you it’s all the better. Especially with how bruised your ego is from constantly being shut down by a certain Winchester for months on end. The heat rising up your neck as you step closer to them both, it’s just biological.

“Well, I’m not going to complain if you want to stay a few days.” You casually add to a conversation you weren’t a part of as you take a seat in the middle of the map table. Unconsciously an equal distance from them both.

“‘Course not when he’s nice to you!” There’s no hidden amusement behind his words this time. Dean is suddenly genuinely agitated and you have no idea why.

“Oh, because being nice to me is a crime now?” You shoot a glare at Dean, more annoyed than you should be. He doesn’t know the torture he’s been putting you through, it’s not _really_ his fault that you’re so eager for a compliment.

Ketch watches you both with interest but is not swayed or distracted, “Y/N, as I was telling this ape-”

“See!”

“-before you got here. I’m working on a commission in the area and use of the library would be incredibly helpful. It would only be a few days and since I have previously helped him out of some particularly sticky situations, perhaps he would be so inclined to return the favor.”

You feel yourself involuntarily nodding along with him as he speaks. His lips aren’t as full as Dean’s but it’s still nice to watch his words fall from them. “It’s not like we don’t have the room,” you add helpfully.

Dean, from somewhere behind you and your now focus on Ketch, protests again, “he’s literally a goon for hire, for all we know he’s here to kill us.”

Ketch let's out this condescending chuckle that you can tell riles Dean up without even glancing in his direction, “Dean, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. In any situation Y/N has nothing to worry about, I could never rid the world of something so lovely.”

You hadn’t liked the casual mention of killing Dean. Even as a joke the idea made a dull weight form in your stomach. It’s just, Ketch so easily switches back to complimenting you on the same breath. You don’t mean to smile like a sap at him, it just kind of happens.

“Fine, he wants to stay, he can stay. But when we all wake up dead...” Ketch opens his mouth but Dean doesn’t let him have the pleasure, “shut up.”

Then there’s the stomping of boots in the distance and you and Ketch are alone for the first time in all of your meetings.

“He’s always the charmer, isn’t he?”

“Are you really going to pretend that you didn’t do that on purpose?”

Ketch’s eyes twinkle mischievously which is so unlike any other time you’ve met him that it strikes you as odd how un-Ketch like it seems. He glides into the seat next to you with an unnatural agility and half cocks his head in your direction, “I am absolutely sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, even if I did what harm is there in ruffling his feathers?”

“He did just let agree to let you stay.”

Maybe it’s his stiff upper lip but Ketch delivers everything he says like his life is already scripted so it’s no surprise when he leans in an inch or two and whispers as smooth as silk, “well aren’t I the lucky one?”

* * *

You offer to help Ketch with some of his research because you’re a good host. It’s definitely not because he steals the occasional glance. And you’re definitely not intoxicated by the attention like a sixteen-year-old sneaking a wine cooler at prom.

Nothing would ever happen with Ketch. You’ve heard stories about him and bluntly put, he’s simply not the man Dean is. It’s just comforting to feel wanted again. It’s a confidence boost you didn’t know you needed and he’ll be gone in a few days anyway. Why can’t you enjoy being wanted for once?

“Y/N?” Dean clears his throat and you hide the widening of your eyes by staring intently at the page because honestly? You have no idea how long he’s been there watching you with Ketch.

“Yeah, Dean?” You try to stay nonchalant but with him standing there you’ve started doing that can’t read thing again.

“Thinking about going out for burgers, wanna come with?”

That catches your attention enough for you to look up. At first glance, he looks the same as ever and yet he’s different somehow. A suggestion of nerves in his voice and something else you can’t get a read on. That’s not to mention how out of character the question is in the first place. If he’s going out for food he hollers from wherever he is, saves him asking you and Sam separately. And he rarely asks for company, you always figured he liked some time to himself when he went out.

Just as you open your mouth to ask him if he’s ok Ketch speaks up, “hard luck, Y/N already agreed to accompany me to dinner.”

“I did?” you blurt out and catch Ketch wink fast enough that only you see. “Right, right. I did.”

Your compliance with Ketch sets Dean’s jaw for all of a second before he shakes it off and manages a cocky smile, “we’re all going out huh? I had no idea, I’ll go get Sammy. I don’t know about you but I am hungry.”

“At least wear something other than flannel!” Ketch calls out after Dean’s disappearing form.

You wait about a nanosecond before you turn to him, “I said yes to dinner when?”

He sits back in the high leather chair like he’s a Bond villain, the accent doesn’t help the image, “don’t get me wrong while I would have thoroughly enjoyed our tryst, I am strongly inclined to believe that I may not be welcomed back if I dally with something that does not belong to me.”

“You call this welcome?” You motion with a hand in the direction Dean disappeared to.

Why can’t he just spell out what he means without the intrigue? If he had you might have understood what he was trying to imply before Sam appeared, lurching forward as if he had been shoved into the room followed by Dean sporting a too wide smile.

“Where we eating then?”

* * *

Dinner is weird. The whole situation reeks of weird. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was a hunt by the knot in your gut, the one that normally forms when something is about to go wrong.

It’s a goddamn Olive Garden for crying out loud but Ketch holds your chair out like it’s five-star fine dining. He’s British so you just write it off but then Dean watches you sit down like he might murder Ketch, or you, or both of you. Ketch orders the most expensive bottle of wine they have and it’s only like a hundred bucks, but still, it’s a sizeable amount more than the beer Dean is sucking down. Normally you’d be nursing a brown bottle too but Ketch insists on wine for the lady. You normally wouldn't give in but he hands you a glass with this reserved elegance and damn if it doesn't make you feel like a lady. Dean orders the same food as you because he says that you always order the best thing on the menu and then Ketch swoops to agree that you have excellent taste.

As the evening wears on you feel more and more like a toy that they both want to play with. Except Dean doesn’t want to play with you right? He’s your friend. He’s made that perfectly clear by the way he’s been ignoring your advances for months. He’s just being protective.

At some point, you look hopefully at Sam who shrugs as if it answers your question. You’re not even sure you know what the question was but you know Sam’s apathy wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Then, once you’ve finished the pie that Dean ordered for your dessert, the check comes. Somewhere in your imagination, there’s the sound of a rattlesnake to signify the coming showdown. They both square their shoulders and for the first time that night they seem to have forgotten that you, or anyone else, exists. It’s just them and their dumb argument about who’s picking up the tab.

You’ve drunk too much wine by this point to care or be impressed by their pissing match.

“Eugh, can we just go home please?” You’re up out of your chair, frustrated and swaying your way to the door with Sam in your wake.

If you had stayed in your seat for even 30 seconds longer you might have seen the way Dean looks at you, or if you’d have turned your head back once you’d have noticed how distracted he is watching you walk away. Ketch has more than enough time to pay and get up out of his seat while he waits for Dean to come back to reality.

“She is something isn’t she?” Ketch is smug and proud even when complimenting someone else.

Dean stands up with the scrape of his chair on the floor, bringing himself to full height against his suited adversary. “When are you leaving again?”

"Oh, not for a few days. Plenty of time to get to know her.”

* * *

“Well, well, well boys. Looks like this is my round.”

“I think it’s positively adorable that you don’t feel the need to have anything close to resembling a poker face.” Ketch catches your eye making you pout exaggeratedly from behind your cards.

Sam had been tired, or so he’d said, and he’d gone to bed but you were caught in that sweet spot after drinking where sleep was the last thing on your mind. And since Ketch had been so eager to stay up with you Dean had suggested poker with a fervent shout, like the idea was escaping his body without permission. Which is how you got here. Sitting around a table with both of them opposite you, Dean slightly to your left and Ketch slightly to your right. You’re losing miserably at this point and normally you’d be horrified about that except you're buzzed and don't really care. 

At least you’re having a good time. Dean, on the other hand, is not. Everytime Ketch opens his mouth you'd swear you can hear him grind his teeth. It gets louder if Ketch is talking to you directly.

“Come on then Rainman, you gonna call?” Dean grumbles.

“Call?” you quip, pressing your cards to your chest to protect your secret. “Are you kidding me? I raise!”

Dean had got his chips out, the nice set you bought him the Christmas before last, and even though your pile is the smallest you wiggle in your chair in excitement with your decision. There’s a big song and dance, waggling eyebrows and a little chuckle as you push the pile to the center, “that’s right, I’m all in!”

“You sure, sweetheart?”

Being on the way to fully drunk it’s even harder to fight the blush when he calls you that. So, you don’t fight. You smile down at your cards and let the pink flush your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

You can feel Dean’s eyes on you. There’s no way to explain how you know he’s looking at you other than a tingling under your skin, but you just know. And you’re terrified to bring your gaze up to his because you have no idea what you might find there. It could be the final nail in the coffin, it could be an expression so far removed from lust that it finally ends your crush. God, he could be staring at you like you’re the little sister he never had, who shouldn’t be gambling so frivolously.

Your feelings for Dean are not always easy to deal with but they’re yours and you’re not ready to let them wither and die. You’re not ready to have your heart broken over a drunken game of poker, in front of Ketch of all people. So, you don’t look at him. You chicken out and take this deep, shuddering breath while you continue to study your cards, even though you know them by now.

“Ketch, your turn?”

“So it would seem.” He answers smoothly. Either unphased or unaware of what just happened. He calls, which isn’t all of his chips since you'd been losing. As he pushes his bet into the center of the table he adds an afterthought, “I like a woman who lives dangerously.”

Something snaps in Dean that you’d swear makes an actual sound in the relative quiet of the room. Like the crack of a twig underfoot. Without a beat or taking another look at his cards he growls, “I’m in.”

Ketch seems less and less oblivious to Dean’s anger and more like he’s actively ignoring it. Or he's simply much better at whatever game they’re playing. It’s certainly not about poker. “Care to reveal yourself Y/N?” 

You lay down your cards with a sloppy smirk on your face, “four of a kind.” You’re pretty pleased with yourself and turn to Dean playfully, “you’re up cowboy.”

“I can’t beat that,” he drawls, putting his cards on the table face down. There's a grin all for you at beating him but before you can get lost in a wordless moment with him Ketch steals your attention again.

“Looks like I win.” He turns over a goddamn royal flush and you resist making some lame joke about his monarchy. Instead, you crease your forehead at him and throw your hands up in the air.

“Really? This was supposed to be my round.”

“Would you have wanted me to _let_ you win?”

Normally your answer is no but normally you don’t have the better half of two bottles of wine swirling around your stomach, “yes. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Dean snorts and you throw a glare in his direction, “what are you laughing at? You’ve still gotta beat him, you know, for America!”

Ketch sees his opportunity and pounces, “what about for you?”

Even though everything, since he’s got here, has pointed to you being what they’re fighting over it’s still momentarily jarring to hear it out loud. You scoff, “I don’t know what you do in England but here…”

“I’m not suggesting anything more nefarious than a kiss.”

“A kiss?” You parrot back to him and he nods. You can’t look at Dean but suddenly he’s all you can think about. KIssing Dean would either put your crush to bed or push you to obsession. Either way, it’d be something real and tangible. Something yours, if only once.

Dean is noticeably silent as you sit back in your chair and Ketch, thankfully, doesn’t break eye contact with you. He’s daring you. Even sober you’re too competitive to walk away from his challenge.

“Done. Winner gets a kiss.”

Ketch smirks, “we have an accord then.”

* * *

Dean wins the next round but Ketch had a substantial haul from your ‘all in’ idiocy so it doesn’t wipe the Englishman out completely. The corner of his mouth does twitch ever so slightly as Ketch’s shoulder slump in defeat though.

You’re sitting opposite them both silent. Refusing to show anything more than a passing interest in the game. The ice that you’re swirling in your drink is far more interesting. At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself.

Ketch wins the next round but the ante hadn’t been as reckless. His victory probably puts them on more or less even footing now, both of them hoarding a fairly equal pile of chips.

That’s when you realize how equally matched they both seem to be. Offering a kiss to the winner hadn’t seemed weird until the third game starts. Fairly instantly this feels like the deciding game and now you’re sitting there as less of an observer and more of a prize. There’s not a crack in their poker faces and though neither of them looks at you it still feels like you're under the spotlight.

Dean downs his glass when he looks at his cards which you initially think is bad but then he bets big so was it a bluff? Ketch leans back confidently but then seems more reluctant to call, that is until the last round when predictably both of their pots, every last chip, ends up in the middle of the table.

“Y/N what’s that phrase I’m looking for?” Dean asks you without actually looking at you, he’s in a battle of eye contact with Ketch.

You’re startled out of your silence, “what?”

“Oh yeah, read ‘em and weep.” He turns to you now, “or in your case pucker up.”

There’s that heat creeping up the back of your neck again and you face is forcefully trying to stop a grin spreading out over it. If you didn't know any better your heart just pumped out of your chest like a cartoon.

“While I appreciate your confidence it would appear that for the second time today it’s your hard luck.” Ketch elegantly spreads his cards over the top of Deans as if he needed an extra illustration that his hand beats Dean’s.

You tear your eyes away from the cards to look at Dean who is mostly frozen in place. Ketch wastes not a second before he’s out of his chair and walking around the table, holding out a hand to you. “If you’d be so inclined I’ll take my winnings and get off to bed.”

A hand slams on the table behind you but Dean holds whatever he might have said inside as you slide your hand in Ketch’s and stand up. It’s just a kiss you think. You’re the one who should feel the most awkward considering your crush. Even so, it’s just a kiss.

Ketch is a man of style so a kiss is not just a kiss.

He pulls you to him with your hand and slides his other to the back of your neck. His hand at your neck, in your hair, is a means to support you while he dips you in his arm and presses his lips to yours. For all the showmanship and flourish he puts into it the kiss is relatively tame. It’s a chaste press of his lips on yours, he doesn’t try for anything more. But it’s a long moment in time and between that and the slight headrush as he pulls you upright again there’s still the ghost of a breathless giggle on your lips when he lets go of you.

“Goodnight Y/N, you’re welcome.” He whispers as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Good game Dean,” he adds in a bright, chipper voice as he leaves for his room.

You had no mind to follow him and ask for an explanation. At that point, you’re still under the impression that he means you’re welcome for the kiss because you still don’t understand what Ketch had meant all those hours ago in the library. You still don't understand what Ketch has been doing all day since he first saw you and Dean together.

“Erm, I’m going to- I think I should get to bed too.” You say looking everywhere but at Dean because if he saw the way you’re biting your lip to hide a smile he might get the wrong idea. You don’t want to sleep with Ketch, it’s just been a while since you were kissed is all.

The problem with your escape plan is Dean himself. You make it all of two steps down the corridor when calloused fingers wrap around your upper arm.

“Dean, what the…?” the surprise in your voice is knocked out of you by a few things happening at once. He boxes you in with your back pressed against the hard wall behind you. One of his hands is pressed against the wall beside your head and the other still on your arm, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. His head is slightly dipped in your direction and it might be the closest you've ever been to him while his focus is all on you. He’s making the absolute choice to invade your personal space.

“You’re not following him are you?”

For the first time, you notice there’s a hint of worry in his face and a knot in his brow. Though you don’t understand it you are quick to expel his fears.

“No! I told you I was going to bed.”

The switch is instant, worry turns into something deeper. His eyes darken in a stark contrast to the usual rich green and his tongue darts out over those fucking full lips. Which makes you stare at his mouth obviously, catching every syllable as he forms it.

“Good, good.”

“Why? You’re not jealous are you?”

“I don’t get jealous sweetheart.” His hand creeps up your body, his fingers nimble and soft over your shoulder and neck before his fingers settle over your cheek. You want to call him out on his complete and utter bullshit but it’s hard when just a simple touch leaves you struggling to breathe.

“So, you’re not about to tell me I’m yours or some macho jealous crap?”

He ducks a little lower, his lips barely brushing your as he answers, “Nah, I’ll show you instead.”


End file.
